Clumsy Bunny
by turntable-bayou
Summary: When a twelve-year-old Barnaby reads in his schedule that he'll have fighting classes at Hero Academy, he beams like Christmas just came eleven months earlier. And he's not disappointed either - actually, it takes Barnaby five classes before he receives his first attack, a straight uppercut to the jaw caused by none other than himself. It's brilliant.


**A/N:** Set before canonverse, when bunny was still a student at Hero Academy. Reviews are appreciated as always~!

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_"After fighting, everything else in your life got the volume turned down."_

_- Fight Club (1999)_

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When Maverick tells a young Barnaby that he's more than fit to enroll Hero Academy, and make good use of his powers, the young boy's emerald eyes glimmer in sheer excitement. He's heard the legends, he's read all about NEXT powers, especially his, _heck, he watches Wild Tiger on TV!_ It's too much, so he goes. He arrives late at first, a sputtering mess of blond hair dashing across the campus shouting "I'm late!" just like Alice's White Rabbit, but soon enough, Barnaby catches up and _hell_, he's got a fanclub before he can even process he's actually studying with people like him.

The classes aren't hard, or maybe he's just found something he's good at, but the truth is that the boy learns fast and, soon enough, he's just the student at class whose lowest grade is eight — something about Ethics, only because the teacher insists he's "too selfish". Excuses. Barnaby doesn't take the first place for granted, it's true, but then again, very few people in his class pose as an actual challenge. It's just plain sad.

However, being a hero is not only about theory. The year passes, and when a twelve-year-old Barnaby reads in his schedule that he'll have fighting classes, he beams like Christmas just came eleven months earlier. And he's not disappointed either. At the very first class, the teacher puts them all lined up in front of the mirror, teaches one by one how to properly punch, and orders them to basically pretend to punch their reflection until exhaustion. That day, when Barnaby arrives home, it takes a good two hours for him to stop excitedly jumping around shouting "Uncle Maverick, uncle Maverick, I learned how to throw a punch!". He even practises against his pillow that night, collapsing tiredly after a long row of jabs and crosses.

Still, it's not enough. The teacher tells him his punch is too light, he's not supposed to give the bad guys a rest, or he'll get hurt. Barnaby takes note of it, rotating his hips more to add extra strength to the punches. It works, he guesses, because when they're put to practise one against the other, he holds his ground just all right. He's taught how to knee next, and at first, his stance is loose, his legs are wobbly and it takes him a century to coordinate how to punch and chain that with a kick. He is far better just chaining kick after kick, his legs bouncing around as he hops and doesn't give his partner a hint of a rest.

He's told if he pretends he's punching a bad guy, he'll get more focused, and if he coordinates his breathing with his attacks, he'll throw more strength at his movements. 'Ouroboros' becomes his mantra, and he constantly imagines he's throwing jabs, crosses and hooks at the face he keeps seeing in his dreams, all distorted by the flames, and not just a classmate. That night is what keeps his going, it's what fuels his attacks, and it works.

Actually, it takes Barnaby five classes before he receives his first attack, a straight uppercut to the jaw caused by none other than himself. He's wearing the kicking pads on both hands, keeping his hands positioned in defense just as he was taught, as his partner is supposed to foot jab it. Simple enough and honestly, Barnaby isn't impressed. His turn goes swiftly enough, he foot-jabs his partner (a young boy with brown eyes and face full of freckles) so many times his legs grow sore, but when he's supposed to defend, the situation just changes from water to wine.

He'd rather just dodge, but he needs to learn how to take the impact and well… it's not so sweet to be on the defensive side. The blond pouts, adjusts his glasses and shifts in his knees, setting his stance. His foot slides a bit at each stomp and he's got blisters on it, but it's all right. Ouroboros wouldn't give him a rest either.

"Twenty minutes!" The teacher shouts, and now Barnaby knows he just needs to hold for so long before it's his turn to kick the Ouroboros criminal in the guts. Pardon, his _classmate_. And maybe it's because the air's too tense, or he just blinked at the wrong time, but his arms are sore, and Barnaby's blond head just understands that shout as an order to pause instead.

He flexes his hands, relaxing the grip almost instant, because clearly his partner will stop. Only he doesn't, and what comes next is just a blur mess of a black glove coming straight at his face. It hits the pad, but his hand jerks backwards and before Barnaby gets what's coming to him, his own hand with pad and all hits his jaw, his teeth clicks awkwardly and his glasses just fly off with the impact. _Fuck, it hurts._ A state of inertia hits him for a few seconds, and he doesn't say a word for as long as it lasts. Once it ends, he's sobbing and can't even control himself.

His glasses are forgotten in some corner of the class, which the boy scrambles around to pick up, ignoring completely his classmate when the other boy asks him "Oi, are you okay?" repeatedly. Barnaby is just a sobbing mess, salty tears coming out of his eyes before he can even swallow them and his jaw _hurts._ He excuses himself, rushes to the bathroom, and the teacher just leaves him be. Barnaby is Barnaby, he'll swallow the tears and walk back with his jaw set up high when he does, the arrogant prick.

He doesn't, not today.

Evening comes and, when the blond arrives home with a purple blotch stamped on the side of his jaw, he doesn't jump around, bragging about whatever new technique he learned. Maverick doesn't question him why, he doesn't question about lot of things. However, when Barnaby turns on the TV and a completely beaten up Wild Tiger just smiles at the camera, the young blond allows himself to smile back, even if minimally.

Well, not like he actually cares about the lame hero in a crappy blue suit, honestly. It's just empathy and… well, they _do_ share powers and now, a punch to the face. Barnaby sighs, turning off the TV completely annoyed at the mysterious hero who managed to make him smile. That night, he has a relaxing, dreamless sleep — it's actually pretty nice, until morning comes.


End file.
